Welcome Home, Mister Death
by EvilFuzzy9
Summary: A poignant exploration of Shinpachi, and the man he might one day become... or not.
1. The Heck's a Ken-ki, oy?

**Welcome Home, Mister Death**

A _Gintama_ thingamawhatsit

By

EvilFuzzy9

* * *

How long had it been, he wondered? He couldn't remember the last time...

Steel and ash. Fire and blood. Brimstone and sulfur. These odors stained his nostrils, clung to every inch of his body. The scars of old wounds ached unceasingly, muscles pushed again and again too far past their limits.

He could no longer see. His eyes had failed him a long time ago, so long ago. Eyes which once had gazed upward into the blue skies of Edo now saw naught but impenetrable darkness.

His ears were ringing. It hurt his head, his skull. The sound of it bored straight into his brain, a constant companion which he knew would never leave. Echoes of gunshots and cannonfire, fiery explosions, the ring of clashing blades. These sounds were tattooed painfully onto his inner ear, following him even in utter silence.

His hands used to be so soft, didn't they? At least compared to now. Hard and calloused, every inch of his palms and his fingers were layered with an unfeeling lamellar of thick, dead skin. His hands had become numbed to pain, inured to the ache of knuckles and wrists jarred and abused in the bone-trembling impacts of sword upon sword. He no longer even felt the little day-to-day cuts that accumulated from the handling and the wielding of a samurai's _katana_.

He felt so old. It had been so long... far too long. So many years since he had breathed the air of Japan, of his home, of Earth.

But there was no going back. Not now. Not in this time.

It was gone. They were dead.

The way of Heaven was that of caprice unfeeling. The Tendo Sect nor knew nor cared what pains they wrought upon innocents and innocence. Earth was shattered, broken. Moreover its people, its sons and daughters in humanity, were lost, scattered, wandering even as the Israelites in the Wilderness.

The Land of Milk and Honey was now forever beyond their reach. The Promised Land was destroyed. Their home was reduced to less than ash.

They were gone. He had failed them. He had been too weak to protect them, any of them.

Always, too weak.

He was a failure, not even as a samurai, not even as a man. He had failed as only a worm could. He was lower than the maggots which glut themselves on rancid, rotting flesh.

How many lives had he taken with those two hands? Surely the number was beyond any count. So many years spent fighting every day, swinging his sword and shedding the blood of any who tried to fell him.

Death was always two steps behind him. He was the envoy of calamity, an harbinger of conflict and war. A grim spectre, some called him. A living ghost, a sword demon.

_Ken-ki_.

That was what they called him. It was a title, not a name, but still he bore it as one. Not out of pride, but because it was the only name that an _oni_ like himself deserved to be called. He could not, in good conscience, sully that name which had given to him by his father and his mother, that name by which his sister and his friends had known him, in happier times.

Even if they were all gone from this world, still he would not shame them like that.

He could not.

_"That's it? The Ken-ki? He's only a human!"_

The silence was broken. Free of thought, a hand moved to the hilt of his weapon. It was smooth, worn down, but it melded perfectly into his arm as his fingers curled around it.

He tilted his head, listening. He took a breath through his nose, sniffing.

_The scuffing of boots on pavement. The sound was distinctive in a way that only an experienced ear could discern. There was considerable weight where the soles met the ground, the weight of a large and likely muscular body. _

_He smelled blood. Gunpowder and oil._

_Fire._

"You don't seem like much yourself," he remarked lazily – _wearily_ – drawing his sword from its sheath.

"Put that thing away, old-timer," said the newcomer. The sneer was virtually audible. "We wouldn't want you to get _hurt_ now, would we?"

"I could say the same for you," the old man wheezed, shoulders stooped with the burden of decades. His bones ached, but still the stance came to him like second nature. It was easier than breathing, for him. "People have a bad habit of running into this thing whenever I take it out." He grinned, in spite of himself. "Kids really should watch where they're going, these days."

A snarl, and a growl.

"Don't make light of us, ya bastard! Who the hell d'ya think you are? Some washed up old samurai?!"

"Ahh..." the man let out a soft sigh. He smiled, almost nostalgically. "_Samurai_... it has been a very long time since someone has called me that. Most people don't remember... It was a long time ago, back when I was still young... but, yes, I suppose I used to be one, once upon a time. A samurai. But I cannot call myself that anymore. I've not been able for many, many years..."

A snort. The sound of a blade sliding from its sheath.

"Tch, enough of your reminiscing, geezer! Get outta here! You damn humans don't belong in space, y'know? Just some dirty apes swinging around a bunch of sticks, is what you are!"

The old man scowled.

"Do you begrudge the gutter to he who has nowhere else to go?" he murmured. "Among us humans, those who have cardboard boxes to call home are the lucky ones. Ever since then..." His demeanor darkened, stance shifting subtly. His lips curled firmly into a snarl. "Ever since you amanto... Since the Tendo...!"

Eyes like pearls flashed with anger, unseeing but not not unexpressive. A blade whistled wickedly through the air, sinking into flesh with a grisly sound.

He smelled blood, and the foul reek of spilt guts. A body fell to the ground with a gruesome shriek, gurgling and rattling and thrashing for seconds.

Then it went still, silent.

He smelled the stench of death.

"Again, the reaper's scythe fails to take me..." the old man murmured. His body drooped, tired. "When can I sleep? I am too old for this." His muscles hurt, they were crying out in agony, burning and stinging.

He fell to his knees, all at once. With a strangled gasp, he felt a pain in his breast, a numbness in his sword arm.

He had been stabbed, run through from behind.

"Ah... is this death?" he whispered, feeling weak. The blood was draining from his body. He felt faint, almost delirious. "How sweet it is... to be released at last..."

* * *

Shinpachi awoke all at once. He groped blindly, instinctively in the darkness for his sword. When he could not find it, grasping sightlessly through the sheets, he became panicked.

An unthinking terror gripped his heart. _He was weaponless! Defenseless!_

He nearly had a heart attack before he finally realized.

_I don't have a sword. Because of the ban..._

Shinpachi shook his acing head, perplexed, confused.

_Ugh..._ he thought. _What happened...? I feel like Kagura-chan was playing taiko drums with my skull..._

Glancing around in the darkness of early dawn, Shinpachi squinted his eyes, seeking his glasses. He couldn't see them, though.

Wait.

He couldn't see _anything_. It was never this dark. Not in Edo, at least.

The panic set in again.

"I'm blind?!" Shinpachi cried out. "What the hell kind of gimmick is this?! What else has that damn gorilla author came up with to torment me? Auuugh! I'm blind!" He shot up out of his futon, staggering drunkenly to his feet.

Right before the pain hit.

Then he toppled right over, knocked off his feet by what could only be described as a punch to the gut of every cell in body. It was agonizing. He felt so _stiff...!_

"Ack!" Shinpachi yelped. In his panic, he felt his body seize up. His heart was burning. Literally, he could feel a physical, burning sensation in the muscle which pumped the blood throughout his body.

It was agony. Pure hell.

_I'm dying!_ he thought. _I feel like I'm dying...!_ And this wasn't that much of an exaggeration. His body was in unbelievable pain. It was maddening, he felt like he had been dunked a mile underwater, so far from the surface that he couldn't even see any light. It was akin to the instinctive, unthinking terror of drowning, and Shinpachi's limbs were flailing wildly, uncontrollably as he rolled across the floor.

Right up until he opened his eyes.

* * *

Shinpachi awoke in a cold sweat. He was still in his futon. He could see as poorly as ever. His body didn't particularly hurt.

_Eh?_ he thought, disoriented. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt like he was freezing, so drenched in sweat. _Eh?! What... was that really just a dream...?!_

Grasping around for his glasses, Shinpachi couldn't help but feel more than just a little peeved.

"Another dream like that..." he muttered irritably, finding his spectacles folded up by his bedside. "This is getting a little ridiculous."

Sighing, the samurai-in-training shook his head, before sitting up. His covers falling down off of him, he noticed that his chest hair had grown back again. It was even thicker than yesterday, a rug to rival even a middle-aged general growing from the lean chest of a teenaged male.

He glanced at his arms, and his knuckles, seeing they were also looking incredibly shaggy. For a Japanese boy of his age, at least. Maybe it would be normal for a westerner, to have at least this much body hair, but Shinpachi felt distinctly out of place with it.

"Ah... How in the world does it grow back so fast...?" he wondered to himself. Certainly his father had been a fairly hairy man, but Shinpachi didn't like being so furry. He shaved the hair as neatly as he could, recently even having graduated to regularly waxing, but it always seemed to come back after a couple of days, even thicker and bushier than ever.

Shinpachi glanced at his clock.

_6:15 A.M._

He sighed. Gin-san and Kagura-chan may have thought of this as ungodly early, but lately Shinpachi found himself waking up around this time every day. He had never been a late sleeper like his colleagues, but these days the budding Shimura was finding himself to be a seriously early riser. It just happened naturally, hardly without any input from him.

Standing up, Shinpachi grabbed a clean change of clothes and headed to the bathroom. He knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep even if he tried. He just wasn't tired.

Secretly he was a little grateful for that. The dreams he'd been having lately were more than a little disconcerting...

Practically moving on autopilot, Shinpachi washed up. Took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, briefly combed his hair. He didn't shave though. It didn't even cross his mind, once he stepped into the bathroom. He was too busy puzzling over various important things.

Like what Otsu-chan looked like naked.

Hey.

He was a teenaged boy, alright? He had to do SOMETHING to take care of certain... _daily difficulties_. His sister might have considered it obscene, but it really was the simplest, and quickest, way to get himself down to a point where he could put his hakama on straight.

And once Shinpachi was dressed up, washed up, and woken up, he grabbed a training sword from the dojo proper and headed outside to train in the cool morning air.

Even with his sandals and his socks on, Shinpachi could feel the dew on the grass. He could smell the air, not clean exactly but _fresh_. The air still had the faint nip of night to it, and the sun was just starting to rise in the distance.

Shinpachi moved.

He went effortlessly through the basic kata, movements he had been drilling in for nearly as long as he could hold a sword. These had been taught to him and Otae by their father, back when he was still alive, and still had the strength to teach. The fundamental stances of the Shimura style, a modest school of swordfighting from a family that had once been a minor nobility.

Oh, the Shimura family had not been prestigious like the Yagyuu, or wealthy, or particularly powerful or outstanding in any real way. But as a samurai family of Edo they had naturally been vassals of the Shogunate, one of many clans which had pledged loyalty to the emperor and his shogun, in the old days.

But then, the old days had passed. They had been gone even before Shinpachi was born.

Shinpachi felt warmer, almost hot now as he continued going through the repetitive movements, slowly drilling every slightest tensing of muscle and angling weight into the memory of his body. His motions gained more fervor, and became faster and sharper.

Shinpachi didn't really hate amanto. He wasn't a joi zealot clinging blindly to a past that was gone forever, faded away into the mists of time. The amanto had become a part of human culture and trade. Not just in Japan, which had been one of the countries most resistant to the arrival of these sky-people.

Most every nation in the world had made treaties of some sort or other with the amanto. Some, like France or the British Empire, had met the aliens effectively as equals. They had made trade deals with the amanto more or less as readily as they would with any human state. Others, like Prussia or the United States, had been more leery of letting amanto come and go as they pleased, and had made fair amounts of grandstanding to assert their sovereignty (while eagerly adopting and reverse-engineering amanto technologies to augment their own military power).

Some had been disinterested, particularly in more rural or wild parts of the world, and still others had been outright hostile to the amanto. Of these powers, the Ottoman Empire, Russia, and Japan had been the hardest to subdue, but Japan held the dubious distinction of this rebellion against the amanto NOT being state sanctioned. While the Turks had technically won more strategic victories in the field, and Russia had been a bloody meatgrinder and brutal war of attrition, the samurai of Japan had stood out to the amanto in just how they had been willing to fight not only these outsiders, but their own government.

This, more than anything else, was why when most amanto spoke of human warriors, they spoke of _samurai_. While the strong warrior races of the amanto may have looked down on humans in general, that stubborn refusal to back down even against superior enemies had certainly earned the samurai a certain degree of respect from offworld veterans of the Joi Wars.

Shinpachi honestly didn't hate the amanto for what had happened to Japan. Realistically, academically, he knew that even if the amanto had never come to earth, the Japanese era of closed borders could not have lasted forever. Eventually either internal or external pressures would have forced them to open up trade with other nations once more.

But.

While he did not hate the amanto...

...he had no love for the Harusame. Not those pirates.

He grit his teeth, thinking about Kagura's brother, and that man who had driven her to the brink of madness. That Abuto, who had nearly killed him, whom he had been unable to even lay a hand on.

Shinpachi grit his teeth, once more redoubling the furor of his exercises. It galled him to think about it, to recall all the times his friends had needed to protect him while he was powerless to do anything. It wasn't like he wanted to be the strongest swordsman in the world, or anything...

...but he was tired of feeling like he was being left behind. It was suffocating, how hopeless he felt when he considered how far beyond him Gin-san and Kagura-chan were. They were his friends, yet if things got so bad that they needed help... well, there would be nothing he could do for them. Not as he was.

Shinpachi gnashed his teeth, swinging his bokken so swiftly and fiercely that it whistled shrilly through the air. He did not lose the careful precision of his movements, but they became faster, more powerful and furious the hotter his thoughts burned in his mind.

He twisted his torso with the movement of his blade, striking down invisible foes one after the other. The style taught at Kodokan Dojo was one of overwhelming attack, swift and powerful, "a blitzkrieg bujutsu" as Hajime had once put it. The chief tenant was to strike the foe down in as few cuts as possible, the epitome of its teachings to be found in _one hit, one kill_. Blows powerful enough to pierce armor, yet deliberate enough to pass through a flower garden without bending a single stem.

Shinpachi's arms were burning as he moved through the advance sets. These he had studied largely from scrolls left behind by his father, and some he had incorporated from observations of the styles of Gin-san, and the Shinsengumi, and others. To become a true martial master one had to not simply drill in a singular style. You had to find those movements which best suited you, those strategies of combat most congruent with your personal philosophies. To become a master swordsman was, in essence, to create your own unique style that you could use better than anyone else.

Or something like that.

Shinpachi stopped paying attention to that tangent somewhere around the halfway point.

"The start of this story really was poorly paced," he muttered, sweat trickling down his brow. "And what was with all that melodrama...? Is this supposed to be a _serious_ fic, or something?" He snorted, continuing with his kata. "Now THAT's a laugh," he said under his breath.

* * *

_"Ken-ki...? What's that? Some kinda new manga? Is it like Maken-ki? Is that it?"_

Gin-san was never any help.

_"Ehhhh? A dream about some old guy who keels over of a hear attack, aru? What is that? Only a stupid four-eyes like you could have such a lame dream, aru!"_

Neither was Kagura.

_"Shin-chan, if you have time to waste with dreams, you have time to get a real job~_ ❤"

And ane-ue was just plain _cruel_.

"Why am I asking people about this dream, anyways?" Shinpachi asked himself, sighing as he sat down on the front doorstep of _Snack House Otose_. "It's just a stupid dream about some stupid geezer who dies at the start of some stupid fic. Why am I here?"

"Why are any of us here?" queried the verdette gynoid Tama. "That is one of life's great questions, is it not? Are we here because of some cosmic coincidence? Or were we created by some higher intelligence with a plan for us?"

Shinpachi stared at the robot maid, eyes half-lidded behind his spectacles.

"Eh? You were definitely created!" he said. "You're a robot! You couldn't have just evolved from a pocketwatch!"

"That is a very bold philosophical statement to make, Patsuan," stated Tama, sweeping the steps as she spoke.

A vein was visibly twitching above Shinpachi's right eye.

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?" he muttered.

"I can neither confirm nor deny that," stated Tama blandly.

"I hate you all."

_"WE HATE YOU TOO, FOUR-EYES!" _came Kagura's voice from the Odd Jobs office.

Shinpachi got a matching twitch over his left eye.

_"SHUT UP, KAGURA-CHAN! YOU DAMN SNOT NOSED PSEUDO-LOLI!"_ he shouted back.

_"YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CARES ABOUT THAT, YOU LOLICON IDOL OTAKUUUUU!"_ hollered Gin-san, joining in on the shout off.

Shinpachi scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. "No respect," he muttered. "I get absolutely no respect around here."

"Should I initiate operation of subroutine: _play world's tiniest violin_?" queried Tama.

Shinpachi glared.

"I'm going to kill all of you," he said, eerily calm. "One of these days I am going to snap and murder every last one of you fucking assholes."

"I will be certain to add that to my internal day planner," stated Tama.

"_I fucking hate you._"

And that was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Ohwait.

Wrong genre. Also wrong point in the story.

AND THAT WAS THE END(?) OF A REALLY WEIRD FIC.

CHAPTER.

I DON'T KNOW I'M JUST MAKING THIS SHIT UP AS I GO.

* * *

A/N: I wanted to do a serious piece with a badass Shinpachi. Then I realized that would be boring, the way I was writing it.

So I changed it so that Shinpachi is now like some kind of Rodney Dangerfield/Leonard Church hybrid. I don't know, I thought it was amusing. Also it is a great way to channel hatred for everybody around me.

...which I may or may not have. Depends how good a day I'm having.

**Chapter added:** 2-2-14

**TTFN and R&R!**

– — ❤


	2. Nightmares Don't Mean a Thing, Ya Fool!

**Welcome Home, Mister Death**

A _Gintama_ thingamawhatsit

By

EvilFuzzy9

* * *

Screams. Curses. Laughter.

Gunfire. Ringing steel. Explosions.

The Ken-ki stood serene at the center of chaos, wholly detached from the bloodshed and carnage. Corpses littered the ground at his feet, the cooling bodies of countless enemy warriors heaped high all about him. A katana sang through the air, gleefully wailing a savage dirge as it sliced through flesh with an unnatural precision. A dull and chipped blade greedily drank up the blood of its master's foes, a battered and rusted sword cutting through all which came before it.

Blackened steel and tarnished silver flashed time and again so swiftly through skin, muscle, and sinew. With all the brutal ferocity of a Yato this worn out old katana slew countless foes with effortless ease. It was eerily beautiful, in a way. A dance of death which skipped and twirled its bloody course across heaven and earth, describing a history of war and revenge.

That blade was as the arm of a demon. The Ken-ki's right hand, his touch of death. A sword of calamity, a demon weapon tainted in the taking of tens and thousands of lives. Beyond number were the bodies of its victims. Beyond hope were those who stood before it when it rested in the hands of that infamous devil, that terrible Ken-ki.

_"One, two, went that chipped edge,_  
_Splitting through like driven wedge._  
_Three, four, it sang in glee,_  
_Again, again, they tried to flee._  
_Five, six, blood it spilled,_  
_Friend and foe alike it killed._  
_Seven, eight, a slaying stroke,_  
_Like Reaper's grin, of _Death_ bespoke._  
_Ken-ki, swing; one, two, three, four,_  
_Five, six, seven, eight before,_  
_Before the foe stands up to you:_  
_Cut them down and run them through."_

Katana sang as one with its master, cruel and merciless.

* * *

Again, Shinpachi woke up early.

Again, he was deathly cold with sweat, shivering tremulously with his heart hammering in his chest.

This time, though, there was something a little different...

For one, Shinpachi was not in his bed. Nor was he anywhere inside the Kodokan dojo, or even at Gin-san's house. He had no idea _where_ he was, aside from the fact that he was lying naked in an alley.

That was embarrassing.

But, there was something a little more immediately worrying than that.

"...eh? Eh?" Shinpachi stared uncomprehendingly at the rusty, beat up old katana which was gripped in his hand, its blade slick with blood. "Eh? Eh?" he repeated like a broken record, staring with mounting sense of horror at the gore which slicked the ground and stained the alley walls. "EHHHHHHH?!" he exclaimed in disbelief and shock, seeing the badly slashed and mutilated bodies lying on the ground a few feet away from him, further into the ally.

There was only one thing you could say this looked like, and that one thing was not a good thing to happen. _Especially_ not if you were waking up with what had to be the murder weapon in your hand!

Frantically, Shinpachi tossed the sword away. It was dark, still, barely even at the twilight of earliest dawn, and he didn't see anybody around. There couldn't be any witnesses nearby...

Not that he had done anything that anyone could have witnessed and then testified against him about! Surely not! No, this was definitely some kind of wacky misunderstanding.

Although usually this was the sort of thing you would expect to happen to Gin-san... maybe Hasegawa-san, on a really bad day.

"Ah?" came a very familiar, bleary sounding voice from a nearby cardboard box. "Who's there...?"

Shit.

Speak of the Madao, and he shall appear. Or so it seemed.

"Oh, hello, Hasegawa-san..." said Shinpachi nervously, his face deathly pale. He had a forced smile on his face, feeling dizzy and vaguely nauseous. "How are you today...?"

He then blinked, seeing that the middle-aged Gendo Ikari lookalike was, also, completely naked. In his hand _he_ was clenching a bloody, battered fishing rod.

Shinpachi glanced again at the mutilated, torn up bodies.

"Um. This isn't what it looks like," he said, his voice unusually squeaky.

Hasegawa looked down at his own hands, and his own naked body.

"Um. This isn't what it looks like, either," said he, extremely pale.

A moment of silence passed between the pair.

"I won't tell anyone if you won't," said Shinpachi to Hasegawa.

"Deal," the older man said immediately, bathed in a cold sweat.

Then the two of them paused, realizing something rather important. They looked down at their bodies, which had no covering of any kind. They glanced back down the alley, where the shredded corpses lay. They peered out into the street, where signs of life were beginning to stir in Kabukicho.

They looked down again at their naked bodies.

"...shit," said Hasegawa. He looked vaguely nauseous, and Shinpachi suspected that if the man didn't throw up now, he would only do so later. Thankfully, Hasegawa managed to hold back his terror vomit.

They were still naked, however.

"Ah, Hasegawa-san..." said Shinpachi weakly. "Between murder and indecent exposure... which do you think has the steeper penalty?"

The older man answered instantly, without missing a beat. "Murder. Definitely murder."

Shinpachi back nervously at the dead bodies.

He blinked.

"Eh?" he said. "Eh? Did one of those corpses just move? Eh?"

"Huh?" said Hasegawa. He looked down into the alley, glancing at the piled up bodies. "Hey. I think you're right..." he said slowly.

A moment of silence passed between them.

Again.

"Um," said Shinpachi. "Should we help them, do you think?"

"Ah... that depends..." said Hasegawa slowly. "Look, most of those guys have swords on them... What if this one wants to get revenge on us?"

Shinpachi sweatdropped.

"Um. Is there any proof that we did this?" he said nervously.

"Well, you ARE holding that bloody sword in your hand..." said Hasegawa, averting his gaze from the lad. He looked abashed.

"Eh?" said Shinpachi. He blinked, looking down at his hand. "EHHHHHHHH?!" he cried out, highly perturbed. "I threw this away! Didn't I?!"

"Don't ask me, man," said Hasegawa. "I was unconscious until just a minute ago. I'm innocent, honest!"

"I know you are!" snapped Shinpachi. "Probably! Just as much as I know that I am!"

"...probably," said Hasegawa.

Shinpachi's eye twitched. But then he sighed, and looked back at the pile of corpses.

"Well, whatever the case, if someone is hurt, we should really try to—"

He blinked.

"Eh? Where's the body?" he wondered aloud, seeing that it was gone.

"It's not '_body_'," came a distressingly familiar voice. "It's _Katsura_."

A beat.

"Ah," said Shinpachi. He turned his head to look at the long-haired freedom fighter. "Katsura-san," he said. "Hello. What are you doing here?"

The samurai met Shinpachi's eyes with an intense look.

"I came here on reports of a _tsujigiri_ in Kabukicho," said Katsura dramatically. He had a serious expression on his face, as ever, but for once the contents of his speech actually seemed befitting of the man's grim demeanor. "But I was ambushed by a maddened and dangerously armed old man. A _madao_, if you will."

Hasegawa let out a sob.

Katsura turned to the pathetic, naked, quivering mass of human waste that had once been named Taizo Hasegawa.

"Ah, Kami-sama!" he said, recognizing him from that time. "Were you ambushed by this madao, too?"

"Uh, he's not Kami-sama, remember?" said Shinpachi, sweatdropping. "And it's pretty obvious that he's the only madao here!"

Hasegawa sobbed a little harder.

"Nonsense," said Katsura. "The madao was a fearsome opponent armed with an insidious demon blade. He attacked me from behind with a fearsome cry of 'DONDAKE!' and beat me over the head with the pommel of his sword, knocking me unconscious."

Shinpachi blinked.

"Huh?" he said. "That's me. Anyway you look at it, that's obviously me!"

He then paused, Hasegawa letting out a relieved sigh.

"Eh? Wait." Shinpachi narrowed his eyes at Katsura, frowning deeply. A vein throbbed in his forehead.

He threw the rusted blade in his hand at the man's head.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING AN OLD MAN, YOU JACKASS!?" he roared. The sword missed the man by a hair, impaling itself into the alley wall just above Katsura's head.

"Ah?" said Katsura, looking up at the battered katana which had only barely missed him. "Ohh! Excellent work, Shinpachi! No doubt this is the weapon of the madao who attacked me!"

Shinpachi glared daggers at the fascinatingly imbecilic Joi patriot.

"I'm not an old man," he hissed. "I woke up with that sword in my hands. Any way you look at it, I'm obviously the one who knocked you out!"

Katsura shook his head.

"Impossible," he said. "While I didn't see them, the person who attacked me had the aura of an old man. In fact, it was an aura exactly like yours!"

Shinpachi twitched.

"I keep telling you...!" he snapped. "I'm obviously the one who attacked you! And, what? I have the aura of an old man? Are you trying to piss me off, Katsura-san?!"

Katsura's eyes widened.

"Shinpachi..." he said slowly. "_You_ were the madao...!"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT, DAMMIT!" snapped the young man, ticked off beyond belief. "The only person here that I will allow you to call a madao is Hasegawa-san!" He pointed to where the older man was. "But, yes, I was probably the one who attacked you."

"Is that a confession?" came a quite, feminine voice. It sounded breathy yet dispassionate, the tone even and controlled in a way that bordered on mechanical. It was almost as though the speaker was a soulless puppet with no emotions whatsoever.

He recognized that voice, most unfortunately. He recognized it from that horrible time in the Shogun's palace, in that civil war launched by those three _keisei_. It reminded him of a bloodthirsty demon, a coldblooded killer with no remorse, and no restraint.

Shinpachi heard the sound of a long, _sharp_ sword being drawn from a sheath.

"Ah... Nobume-san...?" he started to say. But he was interrupted by his body suddenly rolling out of the way of a devastating overhand swing, moving seemingly of its own accord as the assassin and Mimawarigumi ace attacked.

She was damn stealthy. He hadn't even heard her approaching, and Hasegawa-san had clearly not seen her either, even though she appeared practically right next to him. Shinpachi had no idea when she had gotten there, but it must have been pretty recently.

_Ah... somehow I've gotten involved in something really dangerous..._ the young man thought. _And all on my own, for once... Gin-san and Kagura-chan aren't anywhere in sight..._

Again, Shinpachi felt his body automatically jerk out of the way, ducking a lateral beheading chop.

Nobume's blood red eyes gleamed in the gloaming sunrise over Kabukicho. Her pale face was expressionless, as blank as a doll's. Dark hair fluttered in a breeze behind her, the air pressure kicked up by her own sword-swings. Her white Mimawarigumi uniform was pristine and spotless, its conservative nature doing little to bely the womanly curves which lay beneath.

Her eyes bored intensely into Shinpachi's.

"You..." she said slowly, her sword outstretched. "Glasses boy..." she turned her nodachi, and stepped forward. She moved to pass Shinpachi, eyes glancing into the face of infamous rebel and Anti-Foreigner activist Katsura Kotaro. "Who is that behind you? He looks suspicious."

Nobume's sword moved. Steel flashed in the morning sun. A long, keen blade swung straight for the wanted Joi's neck.

CRACK

Red eyes widened.

The severed blade of a nodachi embedded itself into the opposite wall, Nobume now holding little more than a handle and guard with just a few inches of sword left. Slender, pale hands trembled in spite of their master.

A lean, naked young man of no particular distinguishing features crouched behind her, a rusted and dirty old sword gripped tightly in his hands. Kind brown eyes were cast into shadow, a soft face looking hard and stern.

Katsura's eyes widened infinitesimally.

_F-fast... I almost couldn't even see it..._ the man thought, disbelieving.

Nobume's heart beat thunderously in her breast, hammering eratically against her rib cage. She gasped, staring uncomprehendingly down at her sword, a _Nihon_ masterwork which had been so easily sundered by that notched, tarnished, worthless katana.

Her face was still unexpressive. Even as that snow white uniform was stained a bloody crimson.

Hasegawa stared, horrified.

"Ah... ahh..." he gasped, sweating bullets. "I... I..." he murmured, staring aghast at Shinpachi. He was probably the only one who had been in a position to see the boy's eyes when it happened. He was the only one who saw what happened with Shinpachi's face in full view.

That expression...

"I'm... GETTING OUT OF HERE...!" the good-for-nothing old man wailed, jumping to his feet and running for his goddamn life, straight out of the alley and right down the middle of the street. He fled, completely naked, not caring at all about his state of dress.

Nobume swooned. The assassin of the Mimawarigumi disarmed and disabled. Blood poured from the gash in her shoulder, staining her once pure and pristine uniform. She fell, swiftly losing consciousness as her life's blood ebbed away.

Katsura glanced concernedly between the woman and the boy. His face was pale, his jaw grimly set. He narrowed his eyes, staring intently at Shinpachi Shimura.

Or...

No.

"...who are you...?" he asked, feeling the change in the boy's aura, in the way he held himself.

This could not be called Shinpachi.

There was a moment of pensive silence.

Then the boy turned his head, glancing coldly into Katsura's eyes. The Joi gaped, feeling a chill shoot up his spine. His bones shivered, his heart feeling as though it had been pierced with a blade of ice.

Katsura staggered backwards, in shock.

Those eyes.

They were blank. Completely empty. It was pure white, a deathly pallor. They were shrouded with the frost of the grave, the dense and impenetrable mist of death.

Those were the eyes of a corpse.

"Y-you...! O...oni...!" the Joi ronin gasped. His frame tensed, hand moving immediately for the hilt of his sword.

He stopped just before he could reach it. His entire body froze up, feeling the touch of ice against his throat. That beaten, broken old sword was held to Katsura's throat, its tip pressed ever so gently against his Adam's apple. Fear gagged him, primal reflexive terror driving a proud samurai back, and down onto his knees.

The boy smiled, a mirthless rictus of a grin. The eyes of a dead man leered out at Katsura.

"Aah... it's been so long..." said the boy, but he spoke with the voice of an old man. "Katsura-kun... you were especially fun, I remember... so much fun to break down and dismember...!"

Katsura's eyes widened. He saw a cruel flash in Shinpachi's blank eyes, a vision of his own hewed and bloodied corpse.

"You..." he murmured. "What kind of demon...?"

The blade in Shinpachi's hand gleamed, a flash of pale crimson.

"They call me... Benizakura..." came the voice, and it echoed inside Katsura's head. The man clasped his hands to his ears, feeling an incredible agony. He shuddered, moaning in misery. He felt the terror of death grip his heart. "The one and only... genuine... original... Benizakura, de aru...!"

A flash of silver.

Blank eyes widened. The beaten, battered old sword fell from Shinpachi's hands with a noisome clatter.

Red eyes met white, which faded back then into brown.

A hilt of diamond wood, graven _Lake Toya_, impacted the naked abdomen of Shinpachi Shimura.

"Oy, oy..." muttered Gintoki Sakata, a rare serious expression on his face. "That's a pretty dangerous thing to be carrying around in just your skivvies, Patsuan..." He grinned, seeing the boy's eyes return to normal. "What if your hand were to slip and you cut off your little general? Eh? Where would you be then? Ya dumbass."

Shinpachi swooned, falling backwards onto the unconscious form of Nobume.

He stared at the sky uncomprehendingly, unable to understand what had just happened.

Darkness took him.

* * *

A/N: Huh, so now this actually has a second chapter, eh? Well, whaddya know. I know there was at least one person who wanted me to update this. And I was in the mood for some Gen!pachi, so I figured I might as well write something out for this.

Hehe, I always DID wonder what happened to that original Benizakura, you know...?

**Chapter added:** 2-25-14

**TTFN and R&R!**

– — ❤


	3. Some Things Just Shouldn't be Said

**Welcome Home, Mister Death**

A _Gintama_ thingamawhatsit

By

EvilFuzzy9

* * *

Tetsuko Murata stared blankly at the shitty, beat up, notched and rusted old katana that had been laid out on the anvil before her. Gintoki Sakata and some long-haired ronin with a vaguely familiar face were kneeling before her, the former with a distressingly serious expression on his face.

The bluenette swordsmith was decidedly pale as she glanced between Gin, his friend, and that battered old blade.

"Umm..." she ventured quietly after several long seconds of awkward silence. "What is this...?" she asked, pointing towards the sword on her anvil.

Gin sighed.

"Zura told you already, didn't he?" said the silver-haired neet peevishly, picking his ear. "It's Benizakura. Apparently."

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura," muttered the long-haired samurai. "And not _apparently_. It _is_. The sword told me so itself."

Tetsuko sweatdropped.

"Yeah, um... but no matter how you say it, doesn't that just seem like a really unbelievable thing?" she said. "Maybe if this were an Excaliburian amanto... but, no. Anyway I look at it, this is just a regular old Japanese katana."

Gin shrugged.

"Well, it's a Benizakura, right? That's practically the exact opposite of a regular katana."

Tetsuko sighed and shook her head.

"I don't know who told you that, but this isn't a Benizakura..." she muttered. "Those swords made by me brother... well, you couldn't even really call them '_swords_', anymore. And besides, those were all destroyed, right?"

Katsura nodded.

"Yes, Gintoki and I destroyed the mass-produced, anti-battleship 'Benizakura' weapons..." he said slowly. "But the sword did not call itself _a_ Benizakura... rather, it called itself _the_ Benizakura. The one and only _original_ Benizakura."

Tetsuko's frown deepened, and she seemed to stiffen up a little.

"Th-that's impossible," she muttered. "This is just an ordinary sword. My father's Benizakura..."

"...was a demon sword, right?" said Gin, frowning also. He sighed. "Well, that's what we're trying to tell you. This is a demon sword, and I guess it's been possessing Shinpachi or something."

Tetsuko paled, glancing back down at the sword on the anvil. Nervously, she scooted backwards away from it.

"...I don't know anything about that sort of stuff, okay...?" she said, starting to break out in a cold sweat. Her gaze dropped to her knees, and she did not look at Gin or Katsura as she spoke. "If this... really is my father's Benizakura, then... there's nothing that can be done."

Katsura slammed a fist down on the floor hard, startling Tetsuko.

"I refuse to accept that," he said, giving the swordsmith a stern glare. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes bored intently into her. He raised a hand, pointing through the doorway into an adjoining room. "Look at him... the shape he's in... and the state his condition is leaving his dear friends in...! Are you really willing to tell those poor girls that there's nothing you can do for their beloved Shinpachi-dono?!"

Gin smacked Katsura on the back of the head, forcing the man to double over (though not from pain).

"Don't say things in such a confusing manner, Zura," said the wavy-haired ronin peevishly. "You're making it sound like he's their _lover _or something. And besides that, isn't one of those girls..."

He raised his other hand to point at the fair, dark-haired, red-eyed lass dressed in a cheap-looking spare kimono who was kneeling over the bare-chested Shimura, staring down at him intently with the eyes of a killer.

"...practically the exact opposite of a comrade?"

* * *

Kagura had a rare worried expression on her face, kneeling down next to Shinpachi. Her friend and fellow Odd Jobber was laid out on a spare futon in a spare room of the Murata smithy, his lower half concealed under a blanket for the sake of the teen's modesty.

Under other circumstances, Kagura would have teased Shinpachi about being found naked in the alley, and she would have acted grossed out by his body and grumbled about not wanting to look at that hopeless loser's scrawny chest. She would have joked about Shinpachi's condition, made light of the situation and been her usual irreverent self. But she couldn't now.

Not when he was like this. And not when that Mimawarigumi bitch was _right there_.

Even if she had fought alongside Nobume once before, Kagura knew that the woman was no friend of the Yorozuya, and no friend of _hers_. Nobume Imai was a cold blooded killer and donut-freak – being enough of the latter to rival even Homer Simpson – and former Naraku, besides.

Even if Gin-chan hadn't told her as much, Kagura would have been able to put it together. Though she acted stupid at times, and often acted without thinking, still the young lass had her own kind of intuition. Even if the instincts of the Yato hadn't let her feel out the similarities in the way this girl moved to the way those Naraku assassins back in the Shogun's palace had moved, or her nose hadn't been able to pick up the same smell of _killer_ on the woman, still she would have been able to put two and two together.

Seeing the Yatagarasu tattoo on the back of the woman's neck while she was dressing her wounds would have been enough to confirm it, for Kagura. After the incident at the palace, and certain other incidents thereafter, she and Shinpachi had done their own digging into a number of things.

If Gin-chan had a grudge to hold against those Naraku, then so did they.

Kagura raised her eyes to glower a little at Nobume.

"You may have helped us out before, but don't think that means I'll forgive you for trying to kill Zura or Shinpachi, aru," she said coldly.

Nobume lifted her eyes from Shinpachi's unmoving form to meet Kagura's gaze. She was perfectly expressionless, with her porcelain skin and gleaming ruby eyes, looking more like a doll than a real person.

"Forgiveness is not something that I require," said she, her voice completely emotionless. "Katsura Kotaro is a wanted enemy of the Bakufu. That is all the reason I need to cut him down."

Kagura's glare hardened.

"And Patsuan?" she all but spat, leveling a look at the fair-faced elite that would have sent most other life forms in the galaxy into a foaming-mouthed catatonia.

"He is a suspicious person," said Nobume bluntly. "I was sent there to search that sector for a tsujigiri. All present evidence appears to point towards Shinpachi Shimura as the perpetrator."

Kagura snarled, slamming a fist down through the floor next to the insensate Shinpachi's head.

"Don't give me that crap, aru! Shinpachi isn't that kind of person!" she snapped. "He may be a creepy idol fanatic and a dateless pervert, but he's no killer! Don't give me an onigiri and call it a jelly donut, aru!"

Nobume's pupils dilated. She appeared to perk up immediately.

"Donut? Where?" she said, giving Kagura the impression of a cat that had just heard a can opener.

Kagura roared, her voice loud enough to shake the rafters.

"Don't screw with me, you fried-dough bitch!" she spat. "Do you think I'll just sit here like some airhead bimbo while you go accusing my friend of murder?! No way in hell, aru! I'm not that kind of woman! And Shinpachi isn't the kind of man who would be a tsujigiri! He isn't the sort of person to go around killing people!"

Nobume's expression did not change, but the tension in her frame did seem to lessen somewhat upon the realization that there were no donuts to be had. She gave Kagura a blank look.

"Why?" she asked.

Kagura paused in her rant, caught off guard.

"Huh?" she said. "Why _what_, aru?"

Nobume was silent for a second. She seemed to be assessing Kagura, the Yato lass having a faintly frenzied gleam in her sea-blue eyes.

After a moment, the assassin closed her eyes and spoke again.

"Why do you say he cannot kill?" she inquired. "Is it because..." She opened her eyes back up, crimson lamps piercing through Kagura like twin sabres. "...you feel he is too weak?"

Kagura's hackles raised high at this, and she grit her teeth.

"No!" she retorted adamantly. "It's because he's _strong_, aru! Shinpachi isn't the kind of weak-willed bastard who needs to go around killing other people just to prove his own ability! We all know that he's strong! Strong in _spirit_, aru!"

Nobume stared unexpressively at Kagura for a moment. She was silent, gazing blankly into the Yato's eyes.

Slowly, delicately, she raised a single dark, slender eyebrow.

"Strong... in _spirit?_" she said at length, sounding almost perplexed. "What use would anyone have for such a meaningless kind of strength? No, you cannot kill your enemies with _'spirit'_. That is not strength."

Kagura sniffed.

"What kind of idiot are you?!" she snapped, tears gleaming in the corners of her eyes. "He doesn't need to kill people! Because he has a strong spirit, like Gin-chan! Only weak people like you, or my stupid brother, or that idiot sadist have to kill others, aru! It's because people don't have strength that they feel afraid, and feel like they have to kill those around them just to be safe!" she bellowed.

"But Gin-chan... Shinpachi... they aren't like that!" she continued. "Only rotten scum can kill other people without feeling a thing, and make others suffer the pain of losing their loved ones! They taught me that, aru. A person doesn't need to fight to be strong... a person doesn't need to _kill_ to be strong... the truly strong... are the ones who can live in peace with others...!"

Kagura's shoulders heaved, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Tears were streaming down flushed cheeks, and there was sweat on her brow. Her eyes glared balefully at Nobume. Her lips were curled back into a vicious snarl.

She had her hands on her knees. Her knuckles were white, fingernails digging into the fabric of her trousers.

Her whole body was trembling, a wild look on her face.

"Me..." said Kagura slowly. "...I'm not strong like them... it takes me everything I've got just to keep from running wild. Yato, the strongest tribe in the galaxy?" She scoffed. "No... we're the biggest weaklings... we're so afraid of other people... so afraid of being hurt by others... that we'd rather just fight and kill and destroy everything in front of us! Because we're cowards! We can't even face the sun... we have to hide behind our umbrellas... because we're weak... weak in spirit."

Kagura's pupils dilated.

Nobume felt a hand grip her shoulder, sharply squeezing her wound. Only her training and conditioning kept the woman from reacting to the pain this touch sent shooting throughout her body.

Kagura was standing right in front of her, suddenly. The assassin's eyes widened infinitesimally at how quickly the younger girl had closed the distance between them.

And meeting Kagura's gaze, Nobume saw the eyes of monster looking back at her.

"Just like the rest of the Yato..." the girl snarled, a wild look in her eyes. "...I'm weak. That's why I can't even look at that emotionless frigging face of yours... without wanting to smash it in... without wanting to rip out your guts and feed 'em to you... knowing that you're the reason Shinpachi is like this, aru!" she roared, violently shaking the Mimawarigumi officer. "I ain't strong enough... to look at you without wanting to end your fucking life!"

Nobume was silent for a moment. She closed her eyes and let out a soft exhalation. Grabbing Kagura's hand, she delicately removed it from her shoulder.

Then she opened her eyes back up to glare death at the girl.

"Touch me again, and I will end that pitiful life of yours," said the assassin lowly, her eyes hard and cold. "If you are really so afraid of hurting others."

The two lasses met one another's eyes. They glared at each other, standing up over Shinpachi's body. Their eyes seemed to duel like blades, locked intensely in an electric glance with all but the ring of clashing steel to announce their enmity.

A voice came in through the doorway then.

_"You two better behave in there, oy,"_ called Gintoki lazily, with just the faintest hint of ice in his tone. _"I don't care who's weak or who's strong, but if either of you dumb brats disturb Patsuan, then papa will turn this car right around. Got that, you two? Keep this up, and it's right back home with no ice cream."_

Kagura stood down, chastised by the man's words. Nobume glared out the doorway, though, rather galled by this person's impudent way of speaking.

"Shiroyasha..." she murmured lowly.

She heard a strange sound effect, then.

"Oh, Elizabeth, aru!" Kagura said, seeming to perk up. "When did you get here?"

Nobume blinked.

Turning her head, she glanced over to see a big, white... penguin... duck... _thing_... holding a signboard that said: _Don't even try it._

She met those blank, soulless eyes, and realized that the message was directed towards _her_.

Mukuro of the Naraku felt a chill run down her spine.

Then the thing turned to face Kagura, and turned its sign around, reproducing that strange sound effect.

_Just now, Leader._

That was what this side said. But then the thing-called-Elizabeth turned the sign around _again_, and there was an entirely different message from the first one.

Nobume stared blankly.

"Wha... what is this...?" she murmured, feeling oddly perturbed by the sight before her.

_Where is Katsura-san?_ was what the sign said, though.

"Oh, Zura's in there with Gin-chan, aru," said Kagura conversationally. "They're talking to Tetsuko-chan about that creepy sword Shinpachi found."

Elizabeth produced another sign, discarding the first one entirely.

_Is Shinpachi-kun alright?_ was the inquiry written thereupon.

Kagura's face fell.

"He's... alive, aru..." she said weakly. "Apparently he hasn't moved or said anything since then."

The sign turned over.

_I heard about the tsujigiri incident. Was it really...?_

"It wasn't Shinpachi," said Kagura firmly. "I'm sure of it, aru. Gin-chan said that sword was possessing him. It wasn't Shinpachi's fault."

Elizabeth's expression was unchanging. The sign lowered, though.

Kagura smiled softly.

"Don't worry, Elizabeth," she said, standing up on her tiptoes to pat the white penguin duck thing on the side of its head. "Odd Jobs Gin-chan has handled plenty of demon swords in the past, aru. Patsuan'll make a full recovery in no time. That stupid four-eyes is way too stubborn to be taken out by something like this...!"

* * *

Tetsuko sighed, shaking her head. She had a grim expression on her face as she set the katana back down on the anvil. Her skin was pale, and she was sweating.

"I... I don't believe it..." she muttered, looking down at the sword. "This really is... I can't believe it. Everything about this sword... it is beyond any shadow of a doubt my father's work."

Gin and Katsura's faces were stern, their expressions carefully schooled.

"Benizakura, huh..." said Gin slowly. "An honest to goodness demon sword... Not even some lame-ass knock off like that Muramasha, but a real, blood-drinking _akuto_." He shook his head, looking the faintest bit nauseous.

Katsura's lips were drawn tightly into a thin line.

"It's such a terrifying thing..." he murmured. "...to see a true demon sword in action. Even if Shinpachi-dono has grown as a swordsman... there is no way he could have defeated that Nobume with just his own strength. That sword... has truly possessed him, hasn't it?"

Tetsuko sighed.

"I don't know anything about demons, or possession, or any of that kind of stuff," she said slowly. "I'm just a simple swordsmith, you know? Whether this sword is alive, or has possessed your friend... I can't say."

Gin and Katsura frowned, looking concerned.

Tetsuko shook her head slowly, looking down at her knees.

"But... one thing I _can_ tell you..." she said slowly. "...is that, if this really is _that_ Benizakura, out of all the hundreds of swords my father made during his lifetime..."

Drops of moisture hit the floor below the smith's head. Lifting her face, she met Gin and Katsura's gazes. Tears were trickling down her cheeks, and she was trembling.

"...then your friend is already beyond saving."

* * *

A/N: Welp. This has certainly become very grim.

It's taken me a couple of chapters, but I think I've started to actually figure out the kind of story I want this to be! By which I mean a very emotional, friendship-heavy one, with lots of Yorozu-yangst and talking.

**Chapter added:** 3-4-14

**TTFN and R&R!**

– — ❤


	4. Don't Give up on Your Friends, Dammit!

**Welcome Home, Mister Death**

A _Gintama_ thingamawhatsit

By

* * *

"What?" said Gintoki, staring blankly at Tetsuko. He picked some wax out of his ear.

The bluenette blinked.

This was certainly not the reaction she had expected. Maybe cursing, a bit of despair. You know, some wailing, some gnashing of teeth, some tearing at their clothes. That was the sort of thing you would expect from somebody who had just received the kind of news that she had given them.

But neither of the two ronin showed any signs of dismay or surprise.

"Umm... You did hear me, right?" she said. "That your friend is probably beyond any hopes of rescue?"

Katsura scoffed.

"Oh, we heard," he said. "But we already told you. Shinpachi-kun won't be bested by something like this."

"Yeah, yeah," said Gin unconcernedly. He waved his free hand dismissively as he wiped the pinky of the other one off on Katsura's kimono. "You already told us that pretty early on before that, you know? Just because a couple thousand words went by in the interim, you think we're gonna react differently? That we're just gonna randomly fall into a pit of despair and start mourning the inevitable?"

The silver-haired samurai shook his head.

"Look," he said, continuing. "We've dealt with plenty of demon swords before. What makes this Benizakura any different?" He gestured to the beat up old katana lying naked on the anvil, its tarnished blade scarcely showing any signs of its famed, sanguine gleam. "A dull, worthless blade like this should be no problem for a main character to break free of."

Katsura nodded.

"Yes, even the Shinsengumi's vice-chief was able to throw off his own possession," he said, the faintest trace of bile in his voice as he spoke of Toshiro Hijikata. "And that Okita reversed Maganagi's consumption of his body, correct? These were just secondary characters, but they were still able to handily overcome a similar trial as this."

"Right, right," said Gin, nodding in agreement. "In shonen manga, even a gag series like this, it's all about star power. Main characters never die."

"...for the most part," added Katsura quietly. "There are exceptions, of course..."

Gin paled a little, and he laughed nervously.

"W-well, this is just a gag manga, right?" he said. "No matter how you look at it, there's no way the author could off a main character. Not unless he planned to either bring them back, or send the series spiralling straight down into darkness and angst."

Tetsuko sighed, listening to these two talking. She shifted her weight nervously on her knees, seated in seiza position. Her short, colorful dress was scuffed and dirtied. She chewed anxiously on her lower lip, shaking her head slowly and clenching her fists until her knuckles were white.

She could see through the facade that these two were putting up. She saw the worry in their eyes, the tension in their postures. Their smiles were weak and forced, their faces pale and drawn.

Gintoki and Katsura were acting strong, pretending that everything would be okay. They spoke optimistically, without worry. Verbally, they made light of the situation, treating it like only a minor, temporary inconvenience. They spoke with bravado, laughing and reassuring one another that Shinpachi would be perfectly alright, that he would recover without issue and be back in action in no time.

Morosely, Tetsuko wondered for a moment if these two were simply acting strong for the sake of the young girl in the next room, or if they were really trying to convince themselves that everything was okay. She didn't know what it was, what their reasoning might be for acting this way.

But she could not let them lie. Not to Kagura, not to themselves. Not about something this serious.

Unfounded hope was a dangerous thing.

"Don't screw around..." the pretty young swordsmith murmured, gritting her teeth. She dug her fingernails into her knees. Her frame was trembling, and tears dripped from her eyes. "I'm serious. Shinpachi... is going to die."

The room went deathly silent. Gintoki and Katsura froze up, their backs stiffening immediately. They looked at Tetsuko with swiftly paling faces.

"Hey... die?" said Gin weakly. "N...no way. Don't say something like that so lightly. I know you've told us that he's beyond saving, but... _die?_ You... you're kidding, right?"

Tetsuko let out a weary exhalation.

"If only I was..." she whispered. "But, no. I'm completely serious. This sword, assuming that it is the original Benizakura..." She shook her head. "It's a demon weapon, through and through. The very first life it ever took was that of my father, its _creator_. It killed its own maker."

Gin and Katsura's grimaces deepened.

The silver-haired ronin glanced worriedly now through the door into the adjoining room, seeing for the first time just how _gaunt_ Shinpachi looked. He'd thought it was just a result of the teen simply maturing, at first, when the roundness had started to leave his cheeks, when the boy'd started to shed the last lingering traces of baby fat. But now, what he'd though of initially as a simply a part of the lad's growth now seemed like something much more sinister.

"That's right..." he said slowly, feeling the chill that gripped his heart as he beheld his friend and protege's sickly appearance. "Your brother told me that back then, didn't he? When he hired me, that time... Your old man died only a month after making Benizakura."

Tetsuko nodded slowly, weakly.

"Sadly, yes," she murmured. "Though the sword did not physically wound him... I have no doubts that Benizakura is what took his life."

Katsura frowned.

"Or did he die of natural causes?" the man wondered quietly. "If he was suffering from a terminal illness when he forged Benizakura, it is possible that he may have been filled with feelings of bitterness and resentment at the realization of his own mortality and impending death. If a master swordsmith has the ability to imbue a portion of their soul into each blade they make... then what would happen if a dying man poured every ounce of his negative emotions – his regrets, his grudges, his fears – into one final katana?"

Tetsuko balked.

"I... suppose that is also possible..." she whispered. "Perhaps. If anyone could have been able to do such a thing, it would have been my father. But..."

Gin spoke up, seeing the doubt in Tetsuko's eyes.

"...ultimately, the _how_ doesn't really matter," he said. "Right? It's not like knowing every dirty little detail of Benizakura's creation will bring us any closer to saving Shinpachi."

The man's eyes, normally dull and unfocused, flashed with a steely determination as he spoke. The expression on his face sent shivers up Tetsuko's spine. It was a rare sight, to behold such resolve in this hopeless good-for-nothing. The swordsmith herself had only seen such a look from him one other time, before.

She cast her eyes downward, feeling ashamed. Was she really about to give up so easily? This Shinpachi was one of Gin's cherished comrades, a youth he had taken under his wing as the earnest squire to his White Knight. After he had tried so hard to save her brother, back then, even after the misguided man had tried to set up his murder just to strengthen his own "Benizakura"...

It shamed the young woman to realize how quickly she had been ready to abandon hope. She owed Gin a debt of gratitude for everything he had done for her in the past, didn't she? Even if her brother had ultimately died, still he had been able to see the folly of his ways before the end. It burned at her conscience to think that she had been about to abandon Gin's own precious little brother after everything the man had done for her.

"...that's right," Tetsuko said, raising her head once more to meet Gin's eyes with her own. She matched his steely resolve, setting her jaw grimly. "We _will_ save him. Even if it's probably impossible, we won't know for sure until we've tried."

Katsura nodded, the smallest of smiles curving his lips.

"Precisely," he said. "If we don't give everything in our power to help our friend... then we can no longer call ourselves _samurai_, can we? This is our duty as Shinpachi-kun's comrades."

Gin chuckled softly, grinning as he glanced again into the adjacent room. He saw Kagura and Nobume looking in at him, Katsura and Tetsuko, kneeling down over Shinpachi. The former had a fire in her eyes, and determination in the set of her jaw. Even Nobume seemed the slightest bit moved by the proceedings, her usually blank expression faltering ever so minutely.

"Heheh... kick reason to the curb and go beyond the impossible, right?" the Shiroyasha mused wryly, smiling softly at Shinpachi's unmoving form.

Kagura nodded firmly, grinning with optimism. Nobume's lips twitched the slightest bit.

Tetsuko smiled.

* * *

Despite all of this optimistic talk, however, there was one rather sizable obstacle in their way. Unless they dealt with it, they could not even _begin_ to help Shinpachi. But this obstacle was more daunting than any other, a challenge which would absolutely dwarf something as small as climbing Mount Everest or slaying a balrog.

Whoever took on this task probably would not be coming back in one piece. It was dangerous beyond compare, several orders of magnitude past being merely suicidal. It was an obstacle the peak of which towered above Heaven, its foundations reaching below even the deepest pits of Hell. The person who undertook it would likely be utterly obliterated in mind, body, and soul.

But it had to be done, before anything else. They had to give Tae Shimura the bad news.

May God have mercy on their souls.

"...Best three out of five?" said Gintoki tremulously, sweating bullets as he glanced between Elizabeth, Kagura, Katsura, and Nobume. His fingers were curled up into a fist, held out before him. Everyone else, in contrast, held their hands out flat with their palms down.

"Do not attempt to escape the inevitable, Gintoki," said Katsura firmly. "As Shinpachi-kun's mentor, you have a responsibility to uphold. Heaven sees this, and guides our hands accordingly."

_Don't try to skive out of doing your share, you silver-permed good-for-nothing,_ said Elizabeth's signboard.

Gin glared at the probable amanto's blank, expressionless visage.

"You can't even throw anything but paper, dammit!" he snapped. "With those damn floppy flippers of yours. You have no right to talk. Or, um, pantomime."

"And what does it say, then, that Gin-chan was dumb enough to pick rock twice in a row, aru?" inquired Kagura blithely, picking her nose with her free hand.

"It's called strategy!" he snapped. "It's a double-bluff! You guys are the idiots for throwing _paper_ twice. What, did you _really_ all think I would choose rock two times in a row? Even if I did, it still says something that you were actually simple enough to assume that I would! You idiots."

Nobume looked at him, unexpressive.

"Or we simply knew that you were foolish enough to think that using rock twice in a row could be considered a good strategy," she said.

Gin scowled.

"What are _you_ even doing here, anyways?!" he snapped at Nobume, pointing accusingly at the Mimawarigumi assassin. "You attacked Shinpachi, right? Why would we bring you with to tell his sister about his condition?!"

"It's _because_ she attacked Patsuan, aru," said Kagura bluntly. "You don't really think we could just leave her behind with him and Tetsuko-chan, do you? She'd probably slit their throats the second we left."

Gin's face fell, and he grimaced. He averted his gaze from Kagura.

"...okay," he conceded. "That's actually a good point. There's no way we could trust her not to kill them."

Katsura and Kagura nodded their heads. Elizabeth also mimicked their actions, somewhat, though its head was pretty hard to distinguish from the rest of its body.

"Of course it is," said Katsura. "The Leader never makes a bad point."

Gin scowled. A vein throbbed in his forehead.

"Hey," he snapped. "_I'm_ the leader around here."

Kagura gave him a baleful glare. Gin immediately recoiled, cowering ashamedly under the lass's fearsome glance.

"Just go in there and deliver the bad news," drawled Nobume emotionlessly. "I'm getting tired of waiting for something interesting to happen."

"I know, right?" said Kagura, smiling immediately at the assassin. "I just wanna see some _blood_."

_Blood for the blood god!_ said Elizabeth's signboard. He flipped it over. _Skulls for the skull throne!_

"HEEEEEY!" Gin snapped, even louder. "You assholes don't care about giving that bitch the bad news at all, do you?!" His face was cast a violent ruddy hue, pointing an accusing finger at them. "You just want to see me get hurt!"

"That's unfair," said Katsura, shaking his head. "They don't want to see you get hurt, necessarily." He crossed his arms over his chest. "They simply wish to see Otae-dono maim somebody."

"THAT ISN'T ANY BETTER!" Gin roared in frustration. "NOT WHEN I'M GONNA BE THE ONE GETTING MAAAAIMED!"

The five of them had come here to Kodokan Dojo with the ostensible purpose of delivering the news of Shinpachi's condition to his older sister. Although they were determined to find _some_ way to save their friend's life, they still knew that it would be irresponsible to not inform Tae Shimura of her little brother's unfortunate affliction.

At the very least, if things went south, it would only be proper for the young woman to be there at her brother's side. She _did_ care for him, after all. Even if she sometimes had a very painful way of showing it.

So Gintoki, Katsura, Nobume, Elizabeth, and Kagura had come here with the intention of telling Tae the bad news. They would do everything in their power to save Shinpachi's life, but they still had a duty to their friend and his family. If nothing else, they would give Tae a chance to put her brother's affairs in order, on the off chance that they failed to save him.

Tetsuko, of course, had stayed behind at her smithy. Someone needed to keep an eye on Shinpachi, and she was the most trustworthy and reliable (and _sane_) person in the circle of those who knew. Nobume was basically an enemy, Katsura was too spacey to be trusted with something this delicate, Kagura was well-meaning but rambunctious, Elizabeth was Elizabeth, and Gin was the meatshield.

So, naturally, Gin was the one who got stuck with the job of telling Tae the bad news. Because he was the most expendable, in that respect.

Grumbling under his breath, feeling the goading stares of Kagura and the others at his back, Gintoki Sakata walked up to the front door of the Kodokan Dojo and knocked. He held his breath, tense and nervous, awaiting with a trembling frame and a bloodless face for Tae to answer the door. The wait seemed to stretch on for hours, the seconds ticking by at a snail's pace as Gin stood stock still in front of the door, his life flashing before his eyes.

He was up to the beginnings of puberty when the shoji sliding door finally opened. Tae Shimura stood before him in her accustomed pink kimono, a deceptively sweet and innocent smile on her face. She looked pretty and harmless, standing there, but Gin knew that under that cute (if flat-chested) exterior lay the black, unfeeling heart of a demon lord.

Tae's smile faded when she saw the grim expression on her visitor's face. Her eyes widened infinitesimally, seeing how sadly Gin looked at her. She perceived the slump in his shoulders, and the rigidity of his posture.

Her heart sank. Gin could practically see it, as Tae's heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, her face paling immediately. She already knew, without him needing to say a word.

"Gi...Gin-san...?" she breathed, her voice soft, quiet, scarcely above the lowest of whispers. "Wha...? What are you doing here...?"

She asked this, but she could already see the answer in his eyes. She could see it, but she didn't want to believe it. Her blood felt like ice in her veins. Her heart stubbornly refused to beat regularly, and her stomach churned and roiled with anxious dread.

Gin sighed, and he seemed unable or unwilling to directly meet Tae's eyes.

"It's... your brother..." he said slowly, morosely. "Shinpachi... he's in a bad way. We're not sure if he's going to make it."

"No!" Tae gasped, a sob wracking her shoulders. Tears welled up in her eyes, the floodgates opening at Gin's words. "Not Shin-chan...!"

In that moment, Gin could only stare disbelievingly. All the strength seemed to leave that terrifying woman instantly, all the malevolent power she held seeming to dissipate at once. She didn't look like the invincible demon lord he had come to think of her as, or even like one of the future Devas.

As Tae trembled, beginning to openly weep, Gin realized for the first time in a long while that she was just as human as he was. She stumbled in a daze, the strength seeming to leave her limbs as the news sunk in.

She was a woman, he remembered. And Shinpachi was her only living relative. She had already lost her mother, her father, her first love...

If Shinpachi went too, Gin perceived as Tae listed forward, insensate from shock as she wept, Otae might very well _break_. It struck him like a physical blow, catching the young woman in his arms, to realize in that moment just how vulnerable she really was. Tae acted so strong normally, but her little brother really was one of the only constants in her life. He was her anchor, in a way.

If they failed to save Shinpachi...

Tae would be like a ship adrift on the ocean. Like the ancient mariner, Gin could tell in that instant that Shinpachi's death would weigh down upon her like the murder of the albatross. She would bear his corpse about her neck, metaphorically speaking, lost in the icy doldrums of apathy.

It would break her, if he died.

Gin grit his teeth, and he wrapped his arms around Tae, holding the woman tight as she sobbed into his breast. He felt her tears dampen his kimono, her frame trembling weakly against him.

She seemed so _small_ in his arms, so fragile.

"Shin-chan..." Tae whimpered, shivering. Her breath rasped in her throat, a piteous airy rattling. "Shin-chan... No...! Not him, too!"

"Don't worry, Otae," said Gin softly, rubbing a hand comfortingly on her upper back. "We'll do everything we can to get Patsuan through this alive. On my honor, I'll do everything I can to help him."

Tae sobbed harder at this, and she wrapped her arms tightly around Gin's frame. She held him fast, showing no intention of letting him go any time soon.

"I'll hold you to that, Gin-san..." she said. "If... If you can't save my brother... I expect you to apologize... wholeheartedly. Your life for his... I'll make you slit your belly, if he doesn't make it...!"

Gin smiled morosely, and he bowed his head over Tae's. He held her protectively, comfortingly.

"It's a promise," he said. "I guarantee your baby brother will make it, one hundred percent."

Tae moaned quietly.

"Liar," she said.

Gin sighed sadly, tears glimmering in his own eyes.

"Yeah... I know."

They stayed like that for a while, just the two of them.

* * *

A/N: The first six or seven pages of this were relatively lighthearted and optimistic, but then it got real heavy and depressing at the end. It seems like that's becoming about the norm, for this fic.

I suppose you could take this to maybe be GinTae teasing, if you wanted to. My intentions while writing it were mostly platonic, but it's possible there might be something there...

Also, thanks (as always) to everyone who has read, reviewed, faved, and followed this fic! ESPECIALLY to those who've reviewed~! ;)

Hehe, Shinpachi's become more of a set piece/plot device, now, in this fic, but then that's also a way to explore his character, particularly in what he means to the people around him. Gin-san and Kagura and the others may not always be the most encouraging or supportive, but I feel like they really DO care about Patsuan when push comes to shove. It's just that sometimes it takes something _awful_ happening for them to remember this.

**Chapter added:** 3-20-14

**TTFN and R&R!**

– — ❤


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